How To Turn A Red Rose Black
by XyeahyeahsowhatX
Summary: This is going to be loonnngg... Morgana's life, from age 13 to full hatred of Camelot. Basically the entire Camelot story from her POV. There's going to be quite a bit of her childhood on there, too. I'd been waiting ages for someone to make a fic like this so I did it }
1. Chapter 1: Deathful Dreamings

**Ok, so this is my second ever fanfic – my first was a Morgana one-shot called I Know It Is. Anyway, this is going to be **_**lo-o-o-n-g...**_** I'm talking a serious amount of chapters, and possibly a sequel or two? Yeah, so, getting to the point, this is basically a the Camelot story from Morgana's point of view. Worth a read, I promise you. And a review. Yes, REVIEW. Fine, I'll say please, but I draw the line at 'pretty please'. Happy reading. Then happy reviewing. Little teeny flashback paragraph at the beginning, but this first chapter is mostly when she's about thirteen-ish. **

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Deathful Dreaming**

It was his dead body that I saw that night. The dead body of my father. The blood-slick, sword-in-hand, but clearly dead body of my father. And the golden light. Always that golden light. Yes, looking back now, I'm certain that was the first dream. It was the next day we were informed of his death.

I wake up heart pounding, breathing hard. I used to scream, and sometimes, when I gets really bad I still do, but for the most part I've learned to stop myself. I'm guessing it's still the middle of the night. The sky outside is dark, almost black, speckled with a myriad of stars, and the cold pallid luminescence of the moon bathes everything in a silvery glow. It takes a few minutes for me to calm my breathing. But I'm a pro at that now.

I'm desensitized to the dark and disturbing scenes that inhabit my dreams, but this one's different. I swear this time, the central figure in my dream was... Well, me. Me, in maybe my late twenties, injured, and striding through the castle. Swinging a sword. And killing countless knights. It might not have been. It might have been someone else. But there I swear I would look exactly like that at that age. And there was something else too. I can't say what it was.

Every morning after, I usually go to Gaius, but I'm beginning to wonder if there's really any point. Each time is the same. More sleeping draughts. More dreams. More sleeping draughts. More dreams. And more and more sleepless nights. A never ending circle.

It's weird. I refer to the nightmares as 'the dreams', but they're so much more than ordinary dreams. When I wake from these monsters, there's a feeling of dread that I can't describe, a tingling through my fingertips and each dream is flooded with amazing, golden light. No normal dream can match that. I'm shivering, and the bedsheets are cool but when I feel my forehead its burning hot. Another repercussion of the dreams.

I fight the rest of the night to keep my eyes open. I've since learned that to go back to sleep after a dream is to continue the dream itself. Morning comes soon enough, and I struggle through the day, thoughts catching on those haunting images of me with the sword, like hasty feet on loose branches. I am asked numerous times if I slept. I lie numerous times about if I slept. And when night finally comes again, I loose the nightly battle to stay awake, and slip again into the nightmare land of deathful dreaming.

For the second night in a row I see that adult version of myself, and for the second night in a row I wake up slick with sweat and destroying the silence of night with the erratic pounding of my heart. Tonight's dream involves me face to face with a man that I recognise scarily well. It chills me to my core, this image, because as certain as I am that I dreamed of myself, I'm certain that's a grown-up Arthur.

"What happened to you, Morgana?" The Arthur-man asks. It's his voice that scares me to hell. Cracking and seeming on the verge of tears, angry and hurt and confused all at the same time. "As a child, you were so kind, so compassionate."

"I grew up."

And my eyes.

The sorrow in Arthur's voice has nothing to the look in my eyes.

The hurt, the fury, the resentment and scarring, the suffering and hatred in my eyes, that's what really terrifies me to hell. There's something very different about my eyes, something that makes me uncomfortable and painful to look at them.

I don't sleep at all this week. Night after night of the torture, showing me. Me, almost crying as I stab a blonde woman who I strangely recognise but can't place where from. Me, stumbling, injured through snow after a scarred and dirty white dragon. Me, with a knife, poised to murder Uther. All so confusing and crazy, night after night, all so chilling.

But one of them sticks out the most. I'm lying in a young mans arms. Choking. Clutching my throat. Dying.

I have to talk to Gaius about this.

I doubt he'll do anything different but I'm so scared and confused and I need to get this off my chest. The medicines never help, not really. The countless stronger doses I've taken have never eradicated them. More diluted, watered down, and in some ways, I suppose, it's worse. If I'm going to have them, I think I want to know what they're about. Maybe.

When I got to see Gaius in the morning, he scans the shadows under my eyes and hands me a full familiar bottle, I take it, somewhat gratefully.

"Gaius?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"Um... This week... There was something... _different_. It was like, I was seeing myself, but older, and Arthur was in a few too, but... Gaius, I'm not entirely sure what I was doing but... It was so real, and so... Like I was really, really bad or something. Like, I _killed _all these people, and Arthur was –"

"Now, Morgana, calm down. It was just another dream. Now, I can make you a stronger potion if you think you need it –"

"It's always the same, Gaius!" I half-yell half-sigh, exasperated "You just keep giving me stronger and stronger ones but _it's always the same_! They never go away. They just get worse."

"Morgana. Take this. It's supposed to be for older people, but you need it more." He presses the bottle firmly into my hand.

I sigh as I walk out the door.

"And another stronger one."

**Ok, so, reviews, please. Feel free to ask questions. Next chapter soon. Oh, and if you want romances, just ask in review and I'll try and fit whatever one you asked me for in. Thanks for reading. Now... Go review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Children Of Camelot

**A/N: Oh my Merlin! How long has it been? I'm am so frickin sorry for the long wait! Seriously guys, don't hate me forever. Anyways, second chapter IS here, everyone (wait... if nobody's here then I'm a big of a loser for saying 'everyone'...). So, guys (or not. Oh god, I'm off again...) since the last chapter was mainly heavy, dark, nightmare stuff, I'm putting a bit more background into this one ****J**** Please read, then please review. This chapter is more of a filler chapter, though. :p reviews are like scissors to me. Awesome. **

**Disclaimer: Merlin ain't mine. Yet. Mwahahahaha.**

**CHAPTER 2**

**Children Of Camelot**

I was not quite eleven when a messenger knocked at the door to tell me my father had died in battle, deprived of the supplies a certain king had promised him. I was told not to hold a grudge. But looking back over my first year in Camelot, I suppose I never looked at Uther the same way. It wasn't just that. The night of my father's death had been the first dream. I saw him die, so vivdly, and I could feel everything; the cold that tore furiously at everything it came into contact with, the salt-rust acrid stench of the blood that stained the grass crimson, and I could feel him die.

It's been three months since Gaius gave me that ridiculously strong sleeping draught, my fourteenth birthday has come and gone, and it hasn't worked.

At first, of course, I was so relieved, I thought I was finally rid of them. Then they came back. Just hints of them, just fleeting, just diluted, and then the first full dream came – diluted by the potion, but I could just make out a child around my own age being burned to death at the stake. The week after, a the same kid was executed for witchcraft. And they've calmed down a bit now, the dreams, but they're still there. Sometimes I have them. Sometimes I don't. But there's always something else, some tingling, golden energy in the back of my mind, something I know I can't access yet.

Arthur Pendragon wakes me up most mornings to go swordfight with him. Beating the thirteen-year-old prince is somewhat grounding; one of the little things that keep me sane.

"Your sword's enchanted or something!" Arthur yells, throwing his blade down onto the cobblestones with a clatter.

"I could beat you with your one, if you like." I ask.

"What makes you think you're winning?" His voice sounds just like the time when he was ten and was told he couldn't have his horse sleep in his room with him.

"The fact I've had you down under my sword the last fifty times!"

The fact is, though, Arthur and I are equally matched. You can see it easily. Most of the time, beating him is a struggle, but I need that now. His downfall is, though, he's always so predictable. Too by-the-book. Where he's been trained by proper instructors, I was shown by my father, a real knight with real experience, and though he's gone now, I can always recall what he said to me.

"Most knights are easy to read, Morgana, that's their weak spot. There's a certain amount of moves and sequences they'll use, in certain orders. So sometimes, you have to mix it up, and go a little crazy, throw in a few really random moves, to win the fight."

I was nine then, and now, with my fourteenth birthday just behind me, I rely on that little piece of advice, one of the last he gave me before he went away, for the last time. I can read whatever Arthur's going to do next so easily.

"You're being ridiculous!" Arthur's face is slowly blotching red.

"Really? You're on, Pendragon!" I shout as he jumps to retrieve his blade.

I win, but barely.

Guilt starts to edge into me after that, because I saw Uther's face in one of the windows, and despite all Arthur puts on, he just wants to impress his father. For all the arrogant walls Arthur builds around himself, for all the wonder-boy reputation he tries to hold up, I've seen for myself the hope and desperation is his eyes when he tries to look good for his father. He told me, once, that he'd always felt a big disappointment to Uther.

That night, I am sitting at my mirror, trying to unknot the tie I use in fights to scrape my long, black hair back, but it won't come free. Random black waves cling on to it, pulling it back, and others strain against the confines of it – when Uther himself comes in.

"Morgana – "

"Hi Uther,"

"I've come to discuss your daily swordfighting with my son."

"What about it?" I grit my teeth as a final yank sends tangles of wavy black hair free.

He gestures to me. "This! This is exactly what I've come to talk about. You're fourteen now, and you're a lady of Camelot."

"So?"

"So you have to start acting like one. You'll stop swordfighting, Morgana, and everything else, for that matter."

"I don't have to do anything!" I call after him as he leaves, but that night, the dreams speak differently.

I dream of spending less and less time with Arthur and Leon and other knights' sons, and see a small, pretty dark girl who I've never seen before instead. I dream of the most materialistic and dull things. And I'm not happy. The me in the dream, or the me lying in bed having it

**A/N ~ Whatd'ya think? Again, I apologise for the wait, and this **_**was**_** just a filler. Reciew. Oh and if you have any romances to request I'll put them in if I can, but not too heavy or centric. Xxx. Thx 4 reading, Morgana-fans **


	3. Chapter 3: Anger And No Outlet

**A/N ~ Chapter Three is here! Gwen is going to be introduced in this one, for all you Gwen-fan-type-people, and a certain king is going to have a certain fall out with a certain ward. Oh, and a certain Gwen and a certain ward won't get off to the best start because of a certain incident with a certain king, but we got friendship in certain later chapters. Until of course a certain awesome chick turns against a certain kingdom. Haha. I've said a certain word too much now and it's starting to sound certainly weird. Read & Review. XXX.**

**Disclaimer: Despite my evil plotting, Merlin is still belongs to the BBC... For now. Mwahahahahahahaaaa!**

**Chapter Three**

**Anger and No Outlet**

Now that I have more anger than ever, I have no outlet to get rid of it.

I wake, if I ever slept well at all that night, to find my wardrobe has been purged of every article of clothing I have ever liked, and stuffed instead with feminine jewel-coloured things, lace or satin or some other nonsense. I groan. Uther must have been serious. I end up in some stupid green dress, totally impractical, and after scouring my chambers I am forced to admit that Uther has destroyed all my hair ties. I sigh in anger.

I hate Uther.

I run, as best I can in this ridiculous frock, to where I usually stow away my sword, dreading what has probably happened. It has. I curse Uther under my breath.

I've never been one for rationality. So when I find myself storming into the council chambers where Uther sits alone, reading through some papers, I don't stop my mouth.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" I demand.

The fury rising in his eyes is instant. I can tell Uther isn't used to people having their own opinions. Let alone fourteen year old girls.

"I am your king, you do not speak to me like that!" He stood up, eyes quickly darkening,

"And I'm a free person! Do I not deserve my own personality?"

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I'll curse myself later, but my mouth and my temper have always seemed to hold the upper hand on my conscience.

"You are my ward, we have expectations to uphold!"

"To who? You're the king!"

"And you are an insolent child! You know nothing of the politics and morals that pillar this kingdom!"

"I know your moral is to abandon certain knights to die." I spit angrily. It is the first time I've ever openly opposed the king of Camelot.

A sudden sting floods my cheek, a red mark spreading from the harsh impact of his hand.

"Your father's death was nothing to do with me!"

"Other than that you sent him with a pledge _you_ broke!"

"Go to your chambers!" He shouts.

When I get back to my chambers, I find a girl I have never before seen arranging flowers in a glass vase. And then she turns around, and I instantly recognise her. She was in my dreams last night. Small and pretty, about my age with short brown corkscrew curls, the girl smiles at me. I don't smile back.

I hate Uther Pendragon. I do.

How dare he? How dare he slap me for the truth? He's a hypocritical coward and nothing else. He just can't stand that sometimes people might question his beliefs, his beliefs that he pushes on the people of Camelot – his beliefs that are wrong. Stupid.

"Hi?" The girl says, "Er - I found some flowers and I thought that –"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" I ask bluntly. The usual deal with dream-people who turn up in waking hours is not the best. Uther has left me in a foul mood.

"I'm Guinevere, but everyone just calls me Gwen, I –"

"And what're you doing here?"

"Didn't Uther tell you? I'm your new maidservant."

"I have one."

"Oh, well, I... I was just told I was... Your face!" She gasps

"Yeah. Uther doesn't like to be opposed."

I'm actually glad that I'm finally rid of Embla, the patronizing old crone who used to hang about my chambers all the time, but I'm in too sour a mood to let on anything.

"You can get me something col – actually, on second thoughts, don't."

I want the bruise to show. I want him to feel guilty. I want the rest of Camelot to see what they have for a king.

"Ok..." She says a little nervously.

Part of me feels sorry for her, but the more dominant part of me is still fully immersed in the fires that Uther has kindled. I hate him. Do I? Hate is a strong word. But hate is a strong emotion.

I think I do.

I hate him.

**A/N ~ Oooh! Sorry, I had to get a bit of Uther-Morgana fire-meet-fire thing going on, cuz in Season 1, he mentioned how she's gone up against him from the beginning. Wanted to show that. Don't worry Gwen-fans, in the near future they'll become the good friends we meet in Series 1! **


	4. Chapter 4: Better Man Than His Father

**A/N ~ Chapter 4, yes, really, this soon. I've gone a bit H2TARRB (How 2 Turn A Red Rose Black) mental at the moment, 'cause I wrote one chapter and got a bit carried away, and people keep asking for updates so I just updated them a lot today. Ok?! If I actually upload this chapter TOMORROW then it's because Merlin came on which means stop everything and watch it. Hang on. Tomorrow doesn't exist. Well, tomorrow for today is Sunday. Which doesn't exist until – Oh my Merlin, I've actually confused myself... What? :/**

**A/N ~ And BTW, this is gonna be quite a heavy chapter... I wanted to see Daddy's-Boy Arthur break the rules, why Elyan didn't live in Camelot and why quite a few people did know Gwen had a brother... So... Read. Review. Follow. Favourite. Whatever :]**

**Disclaimer ~ No, in the past hour I have not suddenly gained control of Merlin.**

**Chapter Four:**

**A Better Man Than His Father**

"Morgana! Hurry _up_!"

"_I'm trying_!" I grimace through gritted teeth. My heart is racing frantically against my chest. I can't believe I'm doing this.

"Morgana!" There's no mistaking the urgency in Arthur's voice. It's my guess Arthur's never done anything against his father's world before, let alone something so ridiculously illegal.

"There!" I say triumphantly, watching the lock twist and spring free.

"Shh!" Arthur cries immediately. The boy's not used to this.

It's been two months since I openly went up against Uther, during which my cheek was blotched purple and blue for Arthur's fourteenth birthday feast. Uther wasn't too pleased at this, which is ridiculous since he has only himself to blame, and so he spun some ludicrous tale about a horse that went insane at the sight of a snake and threw me off its back.

And now... Now...

A lot can change in two months, and a lot has.

I've learnt to shut up about my dreams now, because saying something will only bring more pain to myself and everyone around me. I've crossed a border I can never go back on now, a border with Uther. I'm not afraid of him any more. When I can, however faintly, I will oppose him. I've got too much fire now, bottled up. Fighting Arthur was my outlet, and now it's gone. The dreams have so much force now.

I am expected to be a proper lady now. To an outsider I am. To an insider it's a very different story. The one thing, though, Uther keeps bringing me up on, is friends – how I need nice, respectable friends, instead of...

In two months, Gwen and I have become inseparable.

And now, here I am, doing this for her. After two months. Well. Act first, think later, damn the consequences. That's always been my motto.

Three days ago, her older brother of one year, Elyan was convicted of stealing. The fifteen-year-old was framed, but Gwen and Arthur and I had no way to prove that. Gwen and Elyan and their father, Tom, the blacksmith are a poor family. No matter how much expensive flowers and silk and other rubbish I force on her to sell, which she is very reluctant to accept, it doesn't seem to make much difference. So, yes, Elyan does look the perfect suspect for the robbery, but believe me he's not. Elyan is a good, respectable boy, and, dammit, I was there.

Uther, of course, refuses to see sense.

I ease the door open, Arthur wincing at every slightest creak like a physical slap to the face. Without the clouding of the thick iron bars, we can see Elyan huddled in the straw in the corner, quaking with fear.

I dart in and thrust my hand in his face.

"Get up!" I whisper sharply "Come on, Elyan!"

Elyan grabs my hand tight and lets me pull him up, thrilled and dazed until he sees Arthur manically fretting about behind me.

"What's he doing here?" Elyan snarls and yanks his hand away. He doesn't trust Arthur. Never did.

"Oh for Gods' sake, we're _saving _you. Come on!" I all but yell, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down the cold stone passage, grey and white, illuminated by the flickering shadows and dancing sunset flames.

We've truly done it now. Our loud clattering footsteps echo down through the dungeons, screaming for the guards. They, however, are at the same disadvantage – we can hear them come a mile off. One thing's for sure though. We need a diversion. Now.

We all hurriedly skid to a stop at the end of a passageway, and the only sounds are our heavy breathing, and the pounding of guards' footsteps, which rivals that of our hearts.

"They're coming, we need a distraction," I say quickly, "Arthur, go with Elyan to where Gwen's waiting, you know this place better than any of us –"

"No." Arthur shakes his head, cutting of my explanation of my plan. "You always take the blame. For everything. It's my turn now."

"What? No! I'll stay." I insist.

"No! I won't let you! Not this time!"

I wince, turn my head between Arthur and Elyan and the end of the hall where guards' shadows are swiftly gaining on us.

"Fine. But take this, hide your face!" I insist, quickly unbuttoning my heavy green cloak and bundling it at him.

"Now go." He says.

With one last glance, I gesture for Elyan to follow me and turn back to Arthur.

"Arthur? You're a better man than your father. Always will be."

And with that, we run.

**A/N ~ Ooh! The drama! The intensity! I love you guys who follow this (Not in that way – dirty!) so I promise I will update soon. Also, sorry for the really brief Gwen/Morgana friendship mention thing. I hope you read and review and stick with this Morgana till the end {= **


	5. Chapter 5: Let The Snow Run Red

**A/N ~ Is been too long. I accidently blew up my laptop charger. Yes, it actually exploded. Well, as a skint young teen I had to wait until I had Christmas money because guess what? Certain laptop chargers are expensive. Anyway, moving on, here you go. This latest chapter is inspired by the lovely weather I've been having. Just a filler, this one, btw.**

**Chapter Five**

**Let The Snow Run Red**

As winter dawns and the snow falls thick on the ground, Arthur is expressively forbidden to leave his chambers. Nobody is allowed in or out, save for the servants bringing him food. The guards at the door turn out to be not a stupid as I think. Basically, Uther has him under lock and key. When he'll be free again, I don't know.

The grey stone courtyard is smothered with powdery white snow, and as the harsh wind bites at my face, numbs my fingers and sends my long black hair flying, though I'm having fun, it's all underlain with guilt. Gwen isn't in the best of spirits now Elyan's gone now anyway, but the snow cheers her up a bit.

Arthur and I haven't spoken in weeks. The morning after we successfully smuggled Elyan out of Camelot, headed for a new start as an apprentice at a forge, Arthur was not at breakfast. When I asked Uther, stomach twisting, he told me 'He's considering his actions' and it wasn't spoke of again.

I can still recall last winter's snow, when Arthur, Leon and Owaine had caught me off guard with a snowball ambush, and I'd tackled Arthur to the ground as the two knight's sons laughed, and I'd rubbed snow into his face until his skin turned pink, hair mussed with snow. He told me he was planning some revenge, but the snow was grey slush by the next day, and so he'd sworn to get me back next winter. It's my fault he can't. Why Arthur listens to me, I don't know. It's not like he's my actual brother but for some reason it might as well be. I'd given him some sort of motivational speech and he'd eventually agreed. He never wanted to break these rules in the first place.

As I trail back through the snow to the steps, silvery flakes caught in my hair, skin soaked and furs weighed down by clinging snow after a day of snow-war with Gwen and Leon, I notice Arthur at his window, and try not to look. He has every right to be furious at me, but somehow, seeing him just so depressed is worse.

The sky is darkening quickly now, and the snow stands out stark and white, almost glowing, against it. As I trail back to my chambers, flickering with the illuminated sunset light of sparsely spread out candles, I can see a fresh wave of blizzard ambushing a dusk-painted Camelot. Tiny white flakes swirling aimlessly, gently melting against my window.

I tug off the sodden fur from around my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I don't want to fall asleep. I don't want to have dreams anymore. I down the little bottle Gaius gave me in one, just as he said, and inevitably find myself drowning in my subconscious.

There's snow. All around. And for once in my life I really think I might just be re-playing today's fun. That doesn't last long. The white blanket sparkles, as if smothering the fallen stars, but everything else in the image is anything but sparkling.

A lone black tower, barbed and intimidating, rises from the rolling white-on-white, and a lone black-clad figure rises from in front. There's something sparking in the air, like something's about to happen very soon. When I make out the figures face I want to wake, I have to wake. It's the young woman I finally thought my dreams were rid of. The one with the black hair and the vengeful, tortured eyes. The one that looks like me. And there's but one whisper I can make out, escaping from my – her – lips.

Let the snow run red.

I wake up after that, and I don't scream, or pant, or cry. I just lay there, reflecting on who this is, and why she haunts me.

**A/N ~ I know it was really short, but it was only a filler, cuz I couldn't let you hang on much longer as I write my big dramatic chapters. Also, I apologise if seeing another future-Morgana (that was Ismere, if anyone got that,) sort of made the seeing her destiny thing too frontal. If so, I'll stop that. I will be sure not to explode this charger.**


	6. Chapter 6: Unknown Waters

**A/N ~ Whoa. Updated after a DAY. I know. Anyways, since all chapters before this have been pretty much just setting the scene, I thought, since there's going to be loads of little made-up plots before the episodes actually start, I'd start this one today. You won't really get it until the end. This chapter is longer (well... normal length since most of my previous chapters have been teeny) too by the way.**

**Yeah, about the episodes. I got a few people asking how that's going to work. What I'm gonna do is have some ch+apters very episode-centric, when the episode is primarily about Morgana, skimmed over if she's barely in them, and featuring certain parts of episodes she's in. Get it?**

**Chapter Six:**

**Unknown Waters**

I'm irritated, and I'm itching to leave. Upon the arrival of Lord Eldred, Uther had declared Arthur had 'learned his lesson' and released him on the condition that he 'understands how serious this treason can be'. Each cutting remark sends fresh guilt coursing through me. Of course, it took that to let Arthur free, not my useless attempts at convincing Uther, all of which where to no avail.

Lord Eldred, his Knights, his wife, and his five children, have been invited to stay in Camelot for three weeks, for the celebration of thirty years of peace between their lands. As I stand to the right of Uther, bored out of my mind, I would honestly rather be anywhere else. As Uther and Eldred greet like the old friends they are, I catch Arthur's eye and he shoots me a wide-eyed look of intense boredom. Good to know I'm not the only one.

Since, apparently, Uther feels a need to throw a feast for _everything_, a wide array of food has been spread out and Arthur and I have been required to dress in the most uncomfortable way possible. We stand to greet the visiting nobles.

"Eldred! It's been too long!" Uther smiles "And Lady Catrin, I assume you're well? You remember my son, Prince Arthur, and I don't believe you've met my ward, the Lady Morgana,"

I hate it when Uther has to use full titles for these formal events.

"Of course, of course," Eldred grins back "Though he was just a tiny thing when I last met him! You've grown into quite the young man, Arthur. Are you well?"

"Yes, very." Arthur nods in reply, trying hard to smile politely. I swallow. He's going to start on me next.

"And you must be the Lady Morgana I've heard so much about in Uther's letters! How are you finding Camelot?"

"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances. But Camelot has been my home for four years now, and it will continue to be," I say, inwardly cringing at how proper I sound.

"Yes, yes, of course. She really is growing into something of a beauty, Uther. You're son, too, is a handsome young lad. Good with the sword I expect, he's got that frame. You must be proud."

"Very much so." Uther confirmed "You must introduce me to your batch. Only had four last we met."

"Come foreward now, children," Eldred urges. "Ah, Robbin, my eldest. Fifteen but a few months ago."

The other four are introduced, three more boys and a girl. Bran, who is eleven, Martell, who is seven, Tyrell, who is four and the baby girl, Laurel, all as dull as the last. It takes about an age for the introductions to end and the actual celebrations to begin, and when they do they're kind of a let down. Robbin harasses me through the whole feast, commenting on the castle, the forest surrounding, the food, the music. Why all nobles sons are such bland idiots, I don't know. I reply as sparsely and coldly as I can. I might have to be a proper lady for Eldred and Catrin, but I do not of Robbin, or any of their children.

As Gwen leans in between Robbin and I to refill his cup, for some reason they begin a conversation. Gwen and 'call-me-Robb' . After a while, Gwen hesitates.

"Why are you talking to me?" She asks

"I think the discrimination between servants and nobles is unfair and unjust. Why shouldn't I be allowed to talk with who I want?" Robbin

Gwen grins. "That's just what Morgana says."

"Really?" Robbin raises an eyebrow. I pretend to be deeply enthralled by a potato, and ignore him.

"Yeah. She's always arguing with the king about it. And druids and laws and all sorts of stuff. She doesn't believe in a lot of the kings laws."

Why Guinevere and Robbin think it appropriate to discuss somebody sitting right beside them, I don't know. I can't start talking now, after I've been so distant the entire feast. Why does being part of a royal household have to be so difficult? Someone of Gwen's standard is expected to do a lot of work, but she is free to go where she pleases, do what she pleases, love who she pleases and live where she pleases.

Thinking about it, it's a much more liberating life to be a servant than a noble.

Robbin turns to me.

"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot before." Robbin states "Would you allow me to start over? I'm Robbin, but please, call me Robb. Everyone does. You are?"

"Not interested. Honestly, Robbin – Robb – we may have the same political views but – "

"But you must know why I am here? Why Father and King Uther are pushing us together?"

What is he going on about?

"Excuse me?"

"They're testing how we get along for... somewhere far in the future... the prospect of an arranged marriage."

The impact of his words is shattering.

I drop my fork.

_What_?

**A/N ~ Haha! Said you wouldn't understand till the end! Obviously we know where this plan is going to go, but you know. I'll try to update soon. Now you review. Yes you. Don't think I can't see you. Moohahaha.**


	7. Chapter 7: Misunderstandings and Mockery

**A/N ~ I know I was slow to update. I may continue to be but I swear to god this is one fic that may take time but I will NEVER abandon. K? Good. In this chapter, there is more Morgana vs. Uther awesomness. Also, since I started this fic just before Morgana's fourteenth birthday, do you want me to do a prequel, if you will, focusing on her childhood rather than teenhood, adulthood? Maybe later. When I'm done with this. Now R&R.**

**Chapter 7**

**Misunderstandings and Mocking**

Throughout the rest of the meal I glare in stony defiance, and refuse another word to Robbin, or any of his siblings, and the luscious meal turns to ash in my mouth. It's meaningless. _Meaningless_. I realise now that there can be no doubt how much I despise King Uther Pendragon. A king is that of legend, and is supposed to understand and serve loyal to those who would him. Serve on both ways. Some kind of king. He's an idiot.

I excuse myself from the table, furious, and call Uther for a word outside.

And then I let loose, and I can't stop. And I'm spitting insults and remarks and sharp, biting words at him, tossing foreward every word I've wanted to say for a while, and his grip on the door handle tightens and his glare becomes murky with dark and a half-furious half-confused mask begins to contort his stupid face.

He holds up a perpetually-gloved hand to silence me.

"Morgana. What are you going on about?"

I glare deep loathing at him. "That you would trade me like cattle for political purposes and meaningless ties to bonds the likes of which have never been cut before and never will be!" I cry

"Morgana."

"No! You can't get a say in who I love, Uther, you may –"

"Morgana. Calm yourself, child."

"Why should I?" I demand angrily. He made this decision, he faces up to the consequences. Dammit, one day he's going to regret ever meeting my father.

"Morgana. You have clearly misunderstood everything. Who told you this?"

"Robb. Robbin." I spit

"Ah. He's a boy, and you're a girl, he clearly heard something and maxed it out of proportion."

I know that I'm frowning now. What the hell is he going on about? I grit my teeth as Uther's face spreads into a mocking smirk.

"What are you talking about?"

"Morgana," He smirks, patronizing "I'm not marrying you off."

I open my mouth, but I can't think of anything clever to say, so I let it close again. I swallow, embarrassed. I can't smile. That'd just make him happy, feel like I think he's saved me from something, which I most certainly don't. I can't exactly glare at him, though. He might _actually_ marry me off. Instead I just stand awkwardly, flushed pink, dithering about in a foolish state.

"What young Robbin would have heard, was the fleeting comment made by his father, in a _letter_. Something along the lines of '_if she's a pretty girl it might do good for her to wed my little loner Robb_' It was accompanied by a few more innocent jests about members of both our courts, and a 'back to seriousness'. There was no plans. Ever. Poor young boy's worked it all out in his head. Let him down, easy, Morgana." Uther laughs, and I glare up at him. He's laughing _at_ me.

Immense relief clashes with embarrassment and fury in my mind.

Uther's patronizing smile and mocking laugh echo in my mind as I push past his laughing eyes and retire to my chambers, flopping, exhausted, down onto my bed. Just talking to the king is infuriating these days. When the amber hazy light, after lingering for a while, hinting the start of spring, fades into a blue and silver shadow land, I can't find sleep. I'm willing to bet that Uther, the arrogant pig he is – just like his son – has recounted the entire story to Arthur and Eldred and the whole of Camelot already.

When sleep does eventually find me, I wish it didn't.


End file.
